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Five Minute Fridays: Write

Sometimes the ugliness gets to me. I'm drowning in the pain. I feel the righteous anger for someone else's story, hurt at another's great injustice, so I write. I write and rant and writhe but do not publish. For the story isn't mine. My rantings bring no healing, just catharsis for my own small soul. The world is not moved. They say fight fire with more fire, but wouldn't water be more effective? Sooth, wash, wear away not with more sandpaper, but with rushing streams.

So I look for my own story, what I own among the glories, what is common to us all if only we would look. Try to leave the world a little lovelier despite of all the ugly, all the controversy, all the clever arguments I so would love to win. I already know that I am smart. Does that mean I must be angry? Does the dwelling on the injustice make it somehow dissappear? So I write, and do not publish, should the wrath grow to consume me. Write and rip (or press delete), and make peace with another day.

Comments

Oh wow, I so strongly identify with your words today. Last week was a ranting one for me, the outpouring of frustration and powerlessness and wishing to rescue and help and heal and not being able to. I too have turned to my own words to find a measure of peace. Wishing you peace, deep peace, and much wisdom as you decide when to speak and when to write like fury. :-)

Blogging and boundaries make for an odd couple. It's strange to live in a world where it so easy to self-edit to perfection and equally easy to over-share. I'm still working on the balance. In the meantime, it really does help to write it out rather than hold all those rants in my head. Thanks for your encouragement!

According to the classical method of pigeon-holing personalities, I am a phlegmatic melancholic, which is Latin for "thinks way too much about things to fill out 'about me' sections briefly or succinctly". Consider yourself warned. I am happily married to the man of my shopping list (far better choice than the two-dimensional Prince Charming of my dreams), and the mother of a pensive princess, a mischievous munchkin, and one chill but cheery babe. Caring for the above currently takes up most of my time, but I hope someday to train as a midwife. I am an Orthodox Christian, and my husband is a sub-deacon, so I suppose that makes me a sub-matushka (to abuse the Slavic term). I am addicted to coffee and fiction. I love to sing. My weaknesses in writing include alliteration and parentheses (surely you suspected). My love of chocolate is genetic, and the cravings can usually be quelled by heart-healthy high-quality dark decadence, but I still occasionally slum with a snickers. My blog is my happy place, a spot for sharing blessings, and writing for the sheer joy of putting words on a screen.